


Truth

by DottyDot



Series: How It Could Happen [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 17:04:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17186921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DottyDot/pseuds/DottyDot
Summary: "Sansa was always above him, so far out of reach, she always had been. Yet, he was holding her hand, as she proposed marriage."





	Truth

Jon could not muster a response to the demand, and it was a demand, not a suggestion, or a request. They loathed his Targaryen heritage, distrusted him for abondoning them, but knew the dead were coming. They wanted reassurance, they wanted him bound to them, not to the Dragon Queen, they wanted him tied to the North. "Marry Lady Sansa" they said. Nothing less would appease them. 

He had wanted to hand his crown to Sansa, but there would be no explaining such an action to Daenerys. They would all burn if he was unnamed. It would be a betrayal of his bending the knee, coerced though it had been. 

He turned to Sansa, but as ever, she was impossible for him to understand. She appeared unmoved by the horrifying idea. Davos was there, declaring they needed time to consider. Lyanna Mormont, Lord Glover, and Ser Royce insisted the decision be made quickly. "Go" said the she-bear, "but return to us in an hour with your answer." 

They trusted Sansa. She had proven herself, and while they had chosen him, their faith had been shaken. Sansa rose, pulling Jon to her without a touch or glance. He didn't know how she did that. Instinct made him follow in her wake. 

Upon arriving at the Lord's Chambers, he fell into a chair before the fire, his head sinking into his hands. "We can't. I would never---"

"We must. It is the only way." She hadn't come to the fire with him, stopping several feet into the room, not needing comfort or warmth, focused only on what must be done. He hated it that she didn't waste time over how she felt about the matter and instead thought of the angles. He reminded himself that that was the reason he was alive, that they were sitting in Winterfell, that if he had listened to her about Dragonstone things might have been different. She wasn't conniving; she was circumspect. "You knew what they were going to say before I even told them, didn't you?" For a moment, Jon thought she would simply insist he listen, and then they would argue, and he would be stubborn, and everything would be as it was. Instead, she tried to smile, her face so devoid of any real emotion that the sight made him feel ill. 

"When Bran told me I guessed it would be necessary."

"He only told me this morning" Jon groused.

"He told me several days ago."

"We need Daenerys and her dragons."

"And she wants the North. The North is feeling rebellious, so you need to marry me."

"If you were named Queen of the North--"

"No. She would kill you, Jon."

"I laid with her. I think she loves--"

A strangled sound made Jon look at Sansa, and pity washed over her face. "You are too good, Jon. You do not understand people like Daenerys. She may sleep with you tonight, but if you give away the North, she will burn you tomorrow. Then she will burn me and any other Lord or Lady who does not bow." She was clinical in her dissection of the dragon queen, but her eyes held sadness for him. "You do not understand people who crave power, who lust after thrones and crowns, who see others and their lives as means to their ends."

"You're right. All of it is true. I thought if she loved me--"

"You are now a threat to her. We must have something to offer her to make sure she spares you or we all die."

"The North."

"Yes."

"By marrying you."

"Yes."

"You don't seem to mind the idea."

Sansa had drawn nearer as they spoke, now she sat next to him, her body turned towards him, but her eyes watched the flames.

"Nothing has to change. We marry to appease the Lords and then we keep on just the same."

It was a lie, they both knew it. As soon as the idea was spoken by Lord Glover and seconded by Lyanna Mormont everything had changed. 

"We would be married" Jon reminded her.

"Yes, we would be married." Sansa's face was as emotionless as it was when sitting before the Lords. Any feelings she might have on the topic were indiscernible to him. Her only interest was in securing his position as it was their guarantee to Winterfell, the assurance of their safety. 

"We can't." Jon said, not sure if the Lords' demand was as upsetting to him as Sansa's nearly instantaneous acceptance of it. He would have preferred her to be angry with him for considering it, or for her to weep with resignation, or for her to give any sign that it meant anything to her at all. She had to have some feelings about it, but for all he could see they might have been talking of weaponry or food supply or muddy roads. She made a sound as if to respond to him, so he held up his hand to silence her. "I can't."

"Jon, we owe it to Arya and Bran and to our people to keep them safe. The only way they, or we, stay safe is if we keep Winterfell and hold the North, and you know neither one of our siblings can. We're the oldest, we will do what we must."

"'Our' siblings? Do you hear yourself?"

"They are our siblings. Arya is your sister. Ned Stark is your father. Catlyn Stark was never your mother, I was never truly your sister, but we are still family. I won't let you reject your family now when you need us more than ever. This will save us all."

"Damn us all you mean." 

"We needed allies, you procured the most powerful one available using whatever methods you had to in order to protect us. Now we will protect you. I will do whatever is necessary."

The flames filled the room with their heat and hisses, as if even the burning logs knew this to be wrong. Jon tried to wade through the revelation of his parentage, demands of his bannerman, the inevitable fury of his new aunt, the threat of the white walkers, the preparations for war, and there he stopped. He could not think of more, of every aspect, he could only address what lay before him. Sansa was the one who could think of possible scenario after scenario and choose the best one. He had only to act. He gently took Sansa's hand. She had a callous from where she held her quill. The slight imperfection made him feel closer to her. A flaw no matter how minor made her more human, and he needed her to speak to him as a woman, but he found that an uncomfortable thought. 

The faintest hint of ink that hadn't been totally erased in washing her hands darkened her slender index finger, staining the crevices of her skin with blackness mirroring the stains of his own. His thumb traced it, the admission that she worked as ceaselessly as he did for their home and their family, even though her weapons were quills and ink rather than sword and shield. It made him think they were more alike than he realized, a fancy he tried to abandon. Sansa was always above him, so far out of reach, she always had been. Yet, he was holding her hand, as she proposed marriage. "Are we back here again?" 

"Back where?" She asked, her eyes following the movement of his fingers, wondering why the feeling of his skin touching hers was the only thing she could feel. She was being pulled to him, as quickly as he had always been summoned to her by her touch. The casual tracing of her hands with his fingers entranced her. 

"You undermining me?" He smiled, barely, the expression always abrupt and quickly gone as if he didn't know what to do with it so he hid it away. 

"Maybe." Her free hand reached up and touched his face, wishing she could summon another smile. "Except, now, I'll be able to protect you too."

She touched his face, a gentle hand to his cheek for assurance. Just a touch, but it felt intimate. He couldn't look into her eyes for fear of what he would--or wouldn't--see. He closed his, allowing himself to fall into his own sweet delusion, the possibility of a life he had never considered. "Do you want things to change?"

Her lips came near his cheek, her breath falling against his skin, "No."

When he touched her hand it was an irrevocable step. When she touched him he knew he would agree and that this was the rest of their lives. The two of them, together, arguing in their quiet way, anger and frustration never causing distance, only more warmth between them. When agreement was impossible, their mutual trust meant eventual understanding, and inevitable acceptance. Even their most volatile arguments were a part of their continual, incremental drawing closer to each other, heated word by heated word. 

The idea had been uttered, their relationship changed, everything was already different now. They both knew that, but believing a lie is sometimes easier than admitting the truth. 

Sansa could feel his resolve slip, knew he had been convinced, so her lips followed her breath, placing a light kiss to his cheek, her arms coming to rest around his neck, pulling herself to him in spite of everything that lay between. That was her way, nothing could impede her when she chose her course of action. 

It was the first time her lips had ever touched his skin. She hadn't voluntarily shown him affection since hugging him at Castle Black. Jon found her confounding. It was impossible for him to discern what Sansa felt hidden under the words she said. She did not intend to lie to him, but so much of their relationship was made of policy that there was little privacy in their lives. What she said of politics was not for his ears alone, so he scrambled to understand the reasoning and lift the layers to see what was beneath it all. He knew the foundation was anything and everything for their family, for Winterfell, but the process that lay between that and her decisions was a mystery to him. Yet, she had kissed him.

She had made up her mind.

She had made up his.

Jon's arms came around her waist and she was somehow sitting on his lap, not that he was entirely aware of making it so. Unsure if he pulled her to him, if she had moved first, or if it was a simultaneous coming together. She made no sound, did not move away. Instead, her head fell to his shoulder, as if she were too tired to hold it up any longer. Her stoicism melted into his arms, and she sunk closer to him, allowing him to tighten his arms around her, as if she were happy to be within them.

And then Jon began to understand. How she placated him and then tried to reason with him and then how she goaded him, pushing him into doing what he ought to do, not to aggravate him or pointlessly challenge him, but because her mind was always looking for the danger, the trap, the enemy, and she was desperate to protect him, desperate to keep him. She didn't grant herself the luxury of want, she thought and acted based on what was constantly being demanded of her by her people, by her family, by the circumstances. She needed him to act for the same reasons, to be wiser, smarter, ignoring how much he might want or not want to do what needed to be done. Yet, here she was, crushed to his chest as if she wanted to be held. That was not an obligation, not what family or duty or honor demanded. 

Her red hair fell across his chest, and he dared to run his fingers through it. He had never imagined doing such a thing, never consciously thought of this ending, of this life, but holding her was a realization of exquisite pain. Somehow Sansa had become all the things he had ever wanted without him realizing. She had been giving him a name and a home and meaning and a future ever since she found him. The voice in his ear was hers, the will to keep going was hers. He had nothing, was nothing, when he was brought back by Melisandre. There was nothing until Sansa came to him and burned the fire of life back into him. She was what he had fought and nearly died for. She is what he had bargained and played the game for. She is what he had come home for. 

He choked out one last question, rapidly losing his ability to think clearly, "Nothing changes?" 

Sansa tapped his chin with a pale finger until he looked down at her. She was as affected as him. His moment of clarity was a shared one. There were tears in her eyes, soft, happy tears. "Nothing changes" she murmured before placing her lips to his. 

Then he knew. She agreed to the marriage for the reasons listed in her head, but she wanted this as much as he did. 

Her words were the lie, the kiss was the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
